Bloodborne - Something Wicked
by RetroidRogue
Summary: WARNING: CONTAINS EXTREMELY DISTURBING IMAGERY. Chapter one of a multiple-chapter series. Within the world of Bloodborne, a hunter known simply as Jack stalks the streets of Yarnham at night, eager to find his next victim. But when a crusade conspires against him, the hunter just might become the hunted.
1. New Faces

**Bloodborne: Something Wicked**

**Chapter One**

**"New Faces"**

"Please, sir, please! Spare me!"

Boots clacked against concrete as Jack circled his newest victim, who he had tied to a support beam.

"I-I'll give ya anythin' ya want! Money?! Armor?! Ammo?! I gots lotsa anythin'!"

Jack pushed his hat up, away from his blood-red eyes. An arm came up, his second hand tightening his glove as he wriggled his fingers into a more comfortable fit.

"Please don' hurt me misteh Jack! Please!"

The hunter rolled his head as he fixed how his bandana sat between his neck and his collar. Stepping up to a table, Jack took hold of a makeshift weapon consisting of a crooked, wooden handle and a rusty saw.

His victim, an overly hairy man with pale eyes and a crooked face, writhed against his restraints, "No! No, please! You can't do this to me! This is crazy, this is..."

He was interrupted by his own screams of agony as Jack drove his saw into the man's stomach. Blood burst from his abdomen as shreds of digestive organs caught on his jagged blade. Organic matter took hold of the rusting metal as he slid the tool back through the skin, swiping at the air to clean the saw of loose shreds. The man screamed and thrashed, blood gurgling in his throat as his crooked jaw gasped for air.

Moving back to the table, Jack set his tool back down to take a flask. Holding the glass jar up to the man's mouth, he forcefully took hold of his victim's neck, shaking the man until he spit blood into the jar. Jack rammed his fist into the man's open abdomen, forcing more blood up, through the man's esophagus and, by extension, into the flask.

The Gothic hunter continued this process until the small jar was nearly full, at which point he sealed the flask and set it back on his table. Grasping his saw once more, he returned to the man, who, through bloody gurgles and gasps for air, managed to utter, "Please..."

Jack took hold of the man's face, digging his fingers into the victim's eye sockets. Only a muffled cry sounded as he tilted the peasant's head back, against the support beam. Flipping a metal switch toward the handle of his weapon, he folded it to make a smaller, more forceful saw. With rhythmic motions, Jack sawed his way into the dying man's throat and through his vertebrae. A simple pull was enough to tear the remaining tendons, severing the victim's head entirely.

Examining the man's jaw as he stalked back to his table, Jack tucked his blade under his arm and wrenched the head's largest tooth out of its mouth. Jack dropped the tooth into a clay jar before tossing the head aside, into a bin that Jack had long since gone nose-blind to.

With an old cloth, the hunter wiped blood and shreds of guts off his blade. Using the same cloth to clean his gloves, Jack set his tool down.

The sound of bone crumbling between grindstone sounded as an ominous voice spoke, "Thirty minutes to sun rise, Jack."

"Good 'morrow to you, too, Charles," Jack greeted his companion, stuffing the cloth into his breast pocket. "I assume Mr. Morgann has requested an audience with me?"

"You _are_ the cripple's only regular," the otherworldly messenger reminded him. "We received a scroll with your name on it."

Jack turned, eying the skeleton, who half-way through some sort of portal in the floor. The scroll was old, practically falling apart.

Chuckling to himself as he fixed how the cuff of his sleeve rested over his glove, Jack shook his head, amused, "Another admirer begging for my assistance, no doubt. I'm on a tight schedule, Charles. Would you kindly decline the offer for me?"

"She said it was urgent," the skeleton insisted, holding the the scroll out to Jack.

"'She'?" he echoed, his curiosity caught once more. After a moment of deep thought, Jack chuckled, "My, my, I had no idea it was _that_ type of admirer. Leave it with the others, if you would be so kind, Charles. I shall tend to it on the 'morrow."

"As you wish," the messenger sighed, crawling his way to a rat-infested corner. Disgruntled, he set the scroll atop seven or eight others.

Jack shoved his latest flask into a sack containing many others with similar contents. Taking it and his weapon, he headed for an old door. With a glance back at the skeleton, he nodded, "Well, 'til dusk, Charles."

With that, he left.

Sylvester Morgann's homestead was not unlike Jack's dungeon, old and rat-infested. The door, however, was much heftier, clearly in need of some oil. Truly, it would take a demon to tear down the door, the way Morgann left it latched all the time. Jack preferred to enter the homestead via the catacombs, which had a secret entrance in Morgann's basement.

"Jack!" Morgann called out as soon as the hunter stepped in the door. "Come here, boy!"

Jack did as instructed, quickly ascending a flight of stairs. The old man, forever attached to his wheelchair, was at his desk, working on a letter of some sort.

Moving forward, Jack set the sack of flasks down on the old man's desk, beside his paper and ink jar. "Courtesy of the Hounds."

"Those beasts still givin' you trouble?" Morgann chuckled, pillaging through the sack eagerly.

"Wounded one around midnight," Jack reported, crossing his arms as he leaned against a wall and eyed Morgann's letter. "Sasha, t'was. Nasty girl, you know. She left me a trail. Got caught in a web along the way. Nothing I couldn't handle, of course, but I lost her scent."

"And that's news?" Morgann inquired, frustrated.

"'Course 'tis," Jack nodded. "Her den's toward the gardens. On the Eastern side of Yarnham. Three nights will see the Hounds' hides are on your wall. And their blood on your desk."

"Good, that's good, Jack," Morgann nodded, taking the sack as he wheeled over to a cabinet, inside of which sat several more jars of blood. "Keep this up and we could be done by August."

Jack followed Morgann at a much slower pace, eying the letter once more. The cripple was only two sentences in, but Jack understood that it was to one of Morgann's allies in the North, likely an informative letter regarding the state of the old man's research. "And what happens in August?"

"You know I don't like discussing my work, Jack," the cripple grumbled, hastily setting the jars of blood next to the others. Replacing them with empty flasks, he returned the bag to Jack. Morgann closed the cabinet before returning to his letter.

"How're our Northern brethren faring these days?" Jack inquired harmlessly, peering over Morgann's shoulder.

"Mind your own business, Jack," the cripple sighed, dipping his quill into his ink jar.

"I see," the hunter nodded. Stepping toward a stairwell, Jack offered, "Send Holloway my regards."

"Goodnight, Jack," Morgann grumbled.

Tipping his hat courteously, Jack replied, "And good day to you, Mr. Morgann. 'Til dusk."

Without another word from either party, Jack moved up the stairs, disappearing into the dark confines of his personal chamber.

The sun had set by the time Jack reappeared, though he and Morgann made little more conversation than a simple greeting. The old cripple was hard at work on his incomprehensible experiments. Jack hardly offered a second glance before returning to the catacombs.

Ten minutes showed him to his dungeon, which was conveniently attached to the catacombs themselves.

As soon as his boot was through the door, Jack got to work. Yesterday's corpse was already beginning to smell, an odor that made the dogs in the back restless. Working silently and efficiently, Jack fed the pack of hounds before clearing his workspace, cleaning his weapon, loading his rifle, and counting the teeth in his jar. After adding the appropriate number of marks to his wall, Jack took his sack of flasks and headed for the door.

His heeled boots came to a halt as the stack of scrolls in the corner of the room caught his eye. The newest note was marked with a red ribbon, symbolizing its urgency. Jack glared at the scroll for a long moment before continuing out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

The night's usual mob had gathered in an old courtyard, where a gallon of Sasha's blood had been spilled out, onto the concrete. The crowd's murmurs quickly dissipated to nothing once Jack entered the courtyard, his makeshift sword in one hand, his primitive firearm in the other. Curious glances watched him as he knelt down beside the largest pool of blood, placing his hand against it. Indeed, it was Sasha's. He had the correct courtyard.

"Skeleton Jack?!"

The hunter turned his head to see that a hairy, bandaged man was approaching him slowly, a club in his hand.

"I've heard stories 'bout you!"

Jack slowly raised himself to his feet, watching the man with piercing, somehow demonic eyes.

"They's told me ya _killed_ one 'them beasts. Why, it ain't e'ery day I gets ta meet a legend!"

Hooking his rifle to his belt, Jack turned to get a better look at the others in the crowd. Five others were already approaching Jack, all from different angles. Many more were silently debating joining them.

"Now, heel like a good dog and I'll kill ya quick. Or you..."

Jack lashed an arm out, grabbing the man's fingers as he shortened his tool. Pulling the infected peasant close, he jammed his saw into the man's wrist. A snap sounded before the man squealed like a pig, his hand coming free of his arm as he stumbled backward, blood spurting from his stump. Jack tossed the hand aside, stalking toward the man, who was screaming on the top of his lungs. The man attempted to retreat but tripped, hitting the concrete with his back. Jack elongated his blade before forcing it through the peasant's ribcage, crushing bone and splattering blood. Using his boot for leverage, Jack pulled his blade down the man's body to his genitals, tearing through flesh and vital organs.

Ripping his saw free of the crying man, he swung at the air, tossing loose shreds into the crowd. Stepping up to the dying man's head, Jack forced the heel of his boot into the man's eye socket, carelessly crushing bone and, eventually, gray matter. Jack's would-be assailant let out one last scream before rolling his head and falling silent.

Taking hold of his rifle, Jack circled the body, looking about the horrified crowd as he spoke up, "Now then, has anyone seen Sasha? Large, hairy, you would never know she was a girl. Vicious bitch, she is. Likely roaming with a limp this time of night. Anyone?"

"One o' the beasts was seen near the Cathedral, misteh Jack," a man spoke quickly through crooked teeth.

"The Cathedral? Of Nightingale?" Jack inquired, glaring at the man as he stalked toward the exit. Once he was confident the peasant had told the truth, he tipped his hat to the crowd and spoke, "Appreciate your help."

He turned and moved for the door, clearly in no hurry. A tall, muscular infected with chains and armor stepped in front of him, dual battleaxes at the ready.

Jack sighed, "There's always one in a crowd, isn't there?"

Another man just as large stepped out behind him, an impossibly large greatsword resting on his shoulder. The second man readied his sword as Jack turned, firing a slug into the first's kneecap. He screeched as Jack moved to his side, jamming his blade into the back of the brute's neck. The vicious beast of a man thrashed, turning to slash at the hunter with one of his axes. Jack propelled himself over the blade, firing a second bullet into the man's other kneecap. Slamming his saw into the man's shoulder and tugging forced the brute onto his hands and knees. The second challenger's sword came down just as Jack withdrew his blade from the flesh and stepped to the side. The metal blade cracked the first brute's skull wide open, spilling gray matter onto the concrete.

The remaining man pulled his sword back to his body as Jack withdrew his rifle and took a second set of wooden handles out of a leather quiver on his back. Quickly attaching it to his weapon, he twisted the blade and contorted the handles to make a scythe just as tall as Jack himself.

Enraged, the challenger swung his sword horizontally, but Jack easily hopped the blade. He spun on his heels, using his scythe to force the man's feet out from under him. Bringing the blade back around, he cut a deep gash in the beast's face, just below his nostrils. The man screamed, holding his bleeding face in pain before swinging his sword a second time. Jack dropped, ducking underneath the metal before swinging his scythe upward, tearing a tendon in his opponent's arm. The limb went limp as Jack brought his scythe straight down, into the brute's side. The man cried and thrashed as Jack moved to stand on top of him, digging a heel into the newly formed gash. Slashing his weapon into the man's throat and leaving it lodged, Jack took a flask from his pouch before reaching down, into the man's body to find a swollen artery, a common symptom of the Plague. Once one was found, he carefully lifted it to use it as a hose, filling the flask with infected blood. As soon as the flask was full, he sealed it, slid it back into his bag, retrieved his scythe, and left the brute to bleed to death on the stone floor.

Removing the extra length he had added to his weapon for the fight, Jack took out his filthy cloth to clean his blade before tossing it aside. He ripped a white cotton bandage off of the chest of his first victim, stuffing it into his breast pocket as the remainder of the mob looked on.

Taking one last look at the crowd, Jack continued toward the Cathedral.

The alleyway before him was long and dark, but a hunter such as Jack was never afraid.

A woman, clearly a fellow hunter, stepped out, into the alleyway before him. One hand on her belt, the other hanging loosely in the air, she greeted Jack, "Mister Jack the Ripper, I presume? It's a pleasure to meet you. My name's Luna."

As he approached her, she held her hand out to him. Quickly, Jack raised his weapon and jabbed the blade at the hunter's face, the metal only millimeters from her nose.

She stared into his eyes, her expression unchanging as she spoke, "No need for alarm. I'm the one that gave the messenger the letter with your name on it. I trust he gave it to you?"

"Perhaps," was all Jack offered.

"Then you know of the plot against you?" Luna questioned.

"When you carry a name like mine, you get used to there being plots transpiring against you," Jack replied matter-of-factly.

"I could only imagine," Luna nodded, suddenly sympathetic. "But you must trust me, I'm here to help you."

They glared into each others' eyes for a long moment before Jack chuckled softly, lowering his weapon, "Whoever taught you taught you well. Your courage is unwavering. But your heart is pounding. I scare you, don't I? Come."

Jack moved around her, continuing down the path as Luna stood still, speechless. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she raced after him.

"I'm after a Hound named Sasha. I've word she's been spotted near the Cathedral. Care to join me in the hunt?" Jack inquired.

"The Cathedral?!" Luna gasped. Moving to stand in his way, she spoke quickly, "No! You mustn't go there!"

"Why not?" Jack wanted to know, glaring into her eyes. "Is that where the Hounds reside? Believe me, I can handle the pack."

"It's not you I'm worried about," Luna assured him.

Jack eyed her curiously, thinking his response through carefully.

Before he was able to breathe a word, a bullet came out of nowhere, striking Jack in the shoulder. Blood flew in the air as the force of the impact threw the hunter off balance.

"Jack!" Luna cried, but the hunter clutched his wound and looked past her, down the street.

Under the soft glow of a streetlight stood five figures of various shapes and sizes. One of them held a smoking rifle. The others consisted of a large, overly muscular man with a large axe; a tall, slim man in a full suit of armor; a shorter woman in an old robe; and an older man wearing a religious headdress and garb.

Quite the group, truly.

Jack attempted to ready his blade, but the wound was too severe to move his arm. Instead, he unhooked his rifle and, with a single arm, aimed it at the group, all of whom had begun toward him and Luna. To his surprise, Luna lowered his rifle with a hand.

Once their eyes met, Luna blinked slowly, speaking solemnly, "I'm sorry, Jack."

She shot a fist up at him, striking him in the nose and knocking him backward, allowing her to claim possession of his rifle. Turning it around, she fired, busting Jack's kneecap. The hunter clenched his teeth but refused to give her the satisfaction of a scream as he dropped to his good knee.

Luna moved to kneel down before him, "Don't take this personally, Jack, please. I have to do this."

Jack used his good arm to grasp her collar, pulling her close enough for their noses to touch, "I _will_ find you, and I swear to whatever god you worship, I will bathe Yarnham in your blood."

As if terrified, Luna pushed herself away from him, taking a few steps back as she stared into his eyes. Swallowing hard and crossing her arms, Luna stepped aside as the knight moved up to Jack, dropping to a knee before him. "So _this_ is the mighty Jack the Ripper? A huge disappointment, truly. And here I was expecting a challenge. Oh, well. I suppose people have a tendency to exaggerate their tales. Kill him."

The woman with the rifle stepped up to Jack, firing a slug into his thigh. Clenching the wound, Jack toppled onto his side. His assailant then forced the barrel of the rifle against his forehead.

Fearlessly, Jack stared up at them, his eyes glowing in the moonlight.

His assailant pulled the trigger, and he was dead.


	2. One Man's Curse

**Bloodborne – Something Wicked**

**Chapter Two**

"**One Man's Curse is Another Man's Blessing"**

The final gunshot snapped his eyes wide open.

Once more, Jack took a deep breath, raising himself into a sitting position. To his surprise, he was sitting atop five rotting corpses in some sort of crude morgue. His hat and tools were missing, but he still had his bandana and the rest of his clothes. Stretching his neck, Jack took several deep breaths and closed his eyes. The stench of rot no longer bothered him, for it was a scent that he encountered daily. So he was able to relax, easing his muscles as he basked in his new life.

Jack chuckled to himself, remembering how Morgann had initially warned him against signing the contract, claiming that many considered immortality a curse. But to Jack, it was more of a blessing. Death did not scare him. Fear was not a word he was familiar with. And failure was unacceptable. Jack knew that he couldn't let even death come between him and victory.

Or in this case, revenge.

Dying, he knew, would harm his reputation. Once word got out that Jack had been defeated by a band of misfits, the mob would no longer fear nor respect him. That was something he was not about to let happen.

Jack took a lit torch from the wall and stepped up to an old door. He rattled its handles, but the wood refused to budge. After a moment of thought, Jack pressed his torch against the door, setting the wood on fire. It would take time for the flames to eat through the wood, but there was no doubt in his mind that it would weaken it enough for him to be able to knock it off its hinges.

Bones crumbled as the messenger appeared at his feet, speaking in its monotone voice, "One hour to sunrise, Jack."

"Oh, good 'morrow, Charles," Jack spoke nonchalantly to the small creature. "It was just on my mind, what time of night 'twas."

"You're a long way from home, Jack," the skeleton informed him bluntly. "We'd get moving if we were you."

"I've only one flask. Wouldn't want to disappoint Mr. Morgann. I'll find a place to hole up, and return to him on the 'morrow," Jack explained.

"And what will Morgann think when you don't return?" the messenger countered.

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to deliver the message to him? Inform him that I've run into a bit of trouble, and won't be back 'til the next moon," Jack suggested.

"Why not?" Charles sighed. "We _are_ your messengers, after all."

"Your dedication is much appreciated, my old friend. Now then, if you'd excuse me, I'll be off," Jack nodded slowly, stepping up to the burning door before knocking it open with a boot.

"You didn't read the last message you received, did you?" Charles questioned.

Jack stepped out, into a dark cellar, his torch in hand. With his free hand, he loosened his collar, the heat of the flame starting to get to him. Once he was comfortable, Jack only glanced back at the undead messenger, "'Til dusk, Charles."

With that, he disappeared into the darkness.

The old bell tower was high above the ground, giving Jack an exceptional vantage point. The floor beneath was dark and cozy, an infected corpse already lying on a mattress under a couple layers of sheets. It was easy enough to drop the corpse over the side of the tower, but it was well decayed, leaving a strong stench behind that even Jack found foul. The mattress was ridden with maggots, but Jack dealt with the discomforts, knowing full well that he needed as much rest as possible if he were to continue his hunt the next night.

Jack had managed to find a few shells of ammunition. They did him no good without a rifle, but he slipped them into his pockets anyway. A fire poker was the only adequate weapon he had come across. If he hoped to take down the hunters that killed him, he'd need his personal weaponry back. But where his tools were, he had no idea.

_Perhaps I could send Charles out to look for them for me. _

Fully-clothed and with his crude weapon at the head of his mattress, Jack rolled into a comfortable position, allowing his eyelids to close and his muscles to relax.

Jack's biological clock woke him up just as the sun had set. Using one of his empty jars, Jack retrieved a comfortable amount of water from an old sink. The water tasted fine, so Jack had no concerns regarding drinking himself sick. A rotting apple was the only other sustenance he managed to find, however. Picking at the bruises and maggots with the sharp end of his poker, Jack sunk his teeth into the fruit.

_I've had worse. _

Dropping the apple into his sack, the hunter took the rest of his belongings before moving up to the bell tower, surveying the streets about him. The nightly mob was already on the move, their torches raised high as they searched for the creatures they would one day become.

The thought of it all was sad, really, though Jack had no sympathy for the poor. Beggars, thieves, murderers, and psychopaths, they all were.

His eyes fell upon the Cathedral of Nightingale in the distance. Its clock was glowing in the moonlight, its dark exterior practically invisible amongst the stars.

Moving his bandana back up to fit over his nose, Jack began his descent to the street below.

Jack kept to the alleyways, hoping to avoid the mob as long as he could. A series of the walks led straight for the cathedral, anyway.

Ahead, an infected man was crying for help. Gunshots were heard, followed by a chilling howl.

The alleyway opened into a courtyard, where a large, jet black wolf was engaging a single man, two more at its feet. The infected man, wielding nothing more than a club, stood no chance as the beast tore him limb from limb.

_Found you, Sasha._

Jack readied his fire poker before catching a flash of movement on the rooftops. Slowly backing into a shadow, he watched curiously as two fellow hunters descended from the rooftops, encircling the Hound. Jack recognized them from the moments leading up to his previous death. One was clearly Luna, who just so happened to be wearing his hat, the other a short woman in an old robe.

Luna was wielding Jack's custom blade awkwardly, while the stranger utilized a dagger and a flintlock pistol with great finesse.

A bullet did little more than enrage Sasha, who lashed out with vicious strength. The stranger managed to slide under the beast's arm, driving her dagger into the Hound's shoulder. Sasha raised herself onto her hind legs, howling menacingly as the stranger dangled from her shoulder awkwardly. Luna rushed forward, swinging Jack's blade. The saw sliced through the beast's skin and drew blood, but it was no where near a worthwhile blow. Sasha spun, throwing her arm into Luna's chest, sending her tumbling across the stone floor. Jack's blade slipped from her hand, clattering against the stone. The stranger managed to dislodge her blade from the beast and dropped to the ground. Sasha lurched, attempting to pounce on the hunter, but the human was too swift, sliding out of range.

Perfectly still, Jack eyed his signature weapon as the vicious fight continued.

The wolf turned to bare its teeth at the stranger. With a single, swift motion, she slashed at the creature, leaving a deep gash just under the beast's left eye socket. It spun, smacking her in the stomach and throwing her across the courtyard. Luna pounced from behind, driving both of her swords through Sasha's shoulder blades. The creature reared up, onto her hind legs and howled, attempting to shake Luna off.

Seeing the moment as perfectly opportune, Jack rushed forward, scooping his weapon off the floor before driving it straight through Sasha's abdomen. The beast howled as Jack forced the blade upward, shredding flesh and internal organs. Withdrawing the blade from her stomach, blood, shreds of intestines, and bile sloshed out alongside the metal. The wolf groaned, falling onto her side as blood splattered onto concrete.

Luna lost her grip, toppling onto the stone ground. The stranger moved forward, cocking her flintlock pistol. A final bullet ended Sasha's whimpering. She chuckled, "And this was the beast that nearly slew Mr. Ripper? Pitiful. Thanks for the..."

Jack slapped her pistol out of her hand before moving behind her and forcing the handle of his weapon against her throat, suffocating the hunter. Luna stood, startled, drawing her blades from Sasha's corpse.

"Oh my Lord..." Luna muttered, clearly in shock as she made no motion to help her ally. "Jack? The Ripper? I...I heard stories about you returning from the dead, but I...I thought they were just that...stories..."

"You thought wrong," Jack hissed, violently tossing the half-unconscious stranger aside before swinging his blade at Luna. She blocked the blow with her blades, but Jack skipped forward, knocking her leg out from under her. He then jammed his weapon's handle against her head, forcing her onto the ground. Reaching down, Jack silently retrieved his hat from her head before returning it to his own.

"Jack, please," Luna begged, raising a hand as she dropped her weapons. "You don't understand."

Taking a step forward, Jack forced his boot against her chest, "I understand all I need to. You're working with that group, aren't you? You were merely a lure. Yet you had courage. Killing you now would be a waste of talent. So I shall strip you of your weapons and allow you to leave. But in return for sparing your life, you need to do me a favor. Go to the others. The brute, the priest, the knight, the rifleman. Tell them that I have returned. Let them know that I will hunt you all down one by one and feed your bloody bits to the Hounds. Now go."

With that, Jack turned his back to her, moving to grab the other hunter by the hood, dragging her to the edge of the courtyard.

Luna stood slowly, hesitant as her ally began to regain consciousness. Jack moved to an alley, taking an old fire bin and dragging it over to the stranger. Using a flint stone he liked to keep with him to light his torch, Jack ignited the bin, illuminating the otherwise dark courtyard.

"Jack, look, I don't think you understand what's going on here," Luna spoke carefully.

Jack hooked his weapon to his belt, moving to pick up one of the other hunter's dropped daggers. Testing its sharpness against his glove, Jack responded casually, "You've already said that, miss Luna. And I've already told you that I understand everything I need to. Now, if you don't mind, I have business to attend to."

He moved back to his victim, dropping to a knee before her.

"Skeleton Jack," she mumbled with a slight chuckle. "I must say, I underestimated you, Mr. Ripper."

"You certainly would not be the first," Jack replied, forcing her mouth open to check her teeth.

"Jack, please! Just hear me out! I'm trying to _help_ you!" Luna urged.

"Thus far, all you've been good for is a bullet to the head and an equally horrible headache. Unless you have a pliers, I'd suggest you leave," Jack sniffed.

Before Luna could say another word, Jack dug his dagger into his victim's mouth, carving through flesh to remove a tooth. The whole while, the woman was screaming on the top of her lungs.

Horrified, Luna took several steps back before hurrying into the darkness.

"Smart girl," Jack chuckled to himself, eying the newly removed tooth for a long moment before sliding it into his pocket.

"Fuck!" the huntress exclaimed, holding her bleeding mouth in agonizing pain.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Jack spoke softly, almost warmly, "Do not worry, love. It only gets worse from here. But hang in there and I promise, you _will_ die in the end. And trust me, when I'm done with you, that's all you'll be asking for."

The stranger spat blood in his face, baring her remaining teeth as blood streamed down her neck, "Go to hell!"

Jack smirked under his veil, standing to wipe blood off his face with his cloth, "You know, in all this excitement, I forgot to ask your name. How rude of me! Oh, you _will_ tell me your name, won't you?"

She glared up at him for a long moment before speaking, "Thorn."

"Thorn?" Jack echoed, sliding his cloth back into his breast pocket. "The name's a little cliché, I must admit, but it has a nice ring to it. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss Thorn."

"So...what're you gonna do to me?" Thorn inquired, a hint of fear in her eyes.

Jack eyed her, amused, as he held his dagger over the flame, "Nose to the grindstone, I see. I like that in a woman. Perhaps you may receive my special treatment. Very few have the honor nowadays, y'know."

"You're a sick fuck, Jack," Thorn growled.

"My, my, that's quite the mouth you've got on you, isn't it now? We'll have to fix that," Jack smiled, turning to look at his dagger. A few moments passed before the metal was orange enough to satisfy him. Forcing Thorn's mouth open once more, he drove the steaming blade into her mouth, his fingers muffling her cries as he carved out her tongue. He forced her head forward as to prevent her from choking on her own blood. She struggled against his hands, but his superior strength and force rendered her attempts futile. Once her tongue was free, he wrenched it out of her mouth, throwing her head down as she coughed up blood. Jack chuckled to himself as he peeled loose shreds of skin off of the tongue, "There. That's better."

Thorn attempted to say something, but due to the large amounts of blood pouring from her mouth and her lack of a tongue, she was reduced to unintelligible mumbles.

Slipping the tongue into one of his many pockets, Jack unhooked his weapon from his belt, swiping at the air to extend its length.

"Now the _real_ fun begins."

Jack left Thorn's corpse naked and unrecognizable. She had been stripped of every last one of her extremities, her eyeballs had been gouged out, her remaining teeth removed, and severe burn scars covered her face.

Sasha's corpse was nearly dry, but Jack managed to retrieve two flasks worth of blood from her flesh. Utilizing nothing more than shear strength, Jack wrenched one of Sasha's teeth out of her mouth, testing the sharpness of the selected tooth with his finger. Once he was satisfied, he slipped it into his pocket alongside Thorn's tooth.

Taking one of Thorn's flintlock pistols, as well as a few shells of ammunition, Jack moved down the same alleyway Luna had used. His weapon was coated a dark crimson, covered in fleshy shreds of internal organs and peels of skin. He used his cloth to clean it to the best of his abilities, but before long he was reduced to pick at the intestines with his fingers. A good swipe at the air removed any loose material that remained.

The moon was high in the sky by then, illuminating the alleyway with an eerie glow. Above the roofline ahead, Jack could see the clock of the Cathedral. "11:43" it read. Soon, it would be midnight.

Soon, the real fun would begin.


End file.
